


Lips

by yesbocchan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-17 09:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12362910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesbocchan/pseuds/yesbocchan
Summary: The fact that Harry had started to fantasize about Malfoy on their last year at Hogwarts should be worrying enough. However, things get way more serious once  he realizes his wet dreams aren't as fictitious as he once thought they were.





	1. Part 1

Maybe they taste like cherries. Or apples. Red, bruised and swollen, continuously abused by sharp teeth.

Maybe they’re as soft as they seem, even though he’s almost certain that kissing Draco Malfoy wouldn’t be soft in the slightest.

Harry licks his own lips again, his gaze transfixed on Draco’s mouth. He can’t help it, really. He’s been at it for hours now, McGonagall talking nonstop while Malfoy wore that bored mask, feet tapping under the table, eyes darting to the side every five minutes.

To his side, always meeting Harry’s face. And biting again and again those already abused lips.

Harry wants to run his hands through his own hair and pull hard in hopes he’ll finally wake up from this trance.

Then Draco finally turns his head towards him, slowly, letting his left cheek rest on his left palm, eyes still fixed on the board like he hadn’t noticed Harry’s burning stare.

That is, until their eyes meet.

Despite the angry atmosphere, always there when it comes to them, Harry knows there is something else, something new, building up in that moment.

The proof comes the moment Draco’s teeth finally release his lip and his thumb comes to replace them, stroking the soft skin while he’s still holding Harry’s gaze.

Or when Harry licks his own chapped lips again and doesn’t miss the way Draco’s free hand, as discreetly as possible, adjusts himself inside his pants.

And it all messes up Harry’s head beautifully.

Maybe those lips would look even redder wrapped around his cock, Harry wonders.


	2. Part 2

Harry can’t hear it, but he can definitely see it. The small puffs of freezing air escaping his mouth as he tries to catch his breath.

Harry can’t hear it, but he can imagine it clearly in his head, how Malfoy’s ragged breath must sound like surrounded by the heavy rain hitting the grass.

He really should be heading back. Eighth year Quidditch practice was over for today and Ron would come looking for him any second now. Thick droplets of water soak through his already wet uniform, incessantly, as he decides to linger a little longer.

Because Malfoy’s eyes are suddenly on him. And it is yesterday’s Transfiguration class all over again the minute Harry sees him abusing his bottom lip one more time.

Draco has mud on his hair, dirt on his face. He’s soaked from head to toe and Harry can see he’s trembling a bit from the cold. That’s when Harry notices the way his own fingers are shaking. The thought of a hot shower crosses his mind the moment they break eye contact, Draco suddenly marching towards the locker rooms.

The hot steam hits them straight in the face as soon as Harry opens the door, the voices of his classmates muffled by the sound of the showers sounding way farther than they actually are.

Harry tries not to think of Malfoy right behind him, in the same room, undressing, when he starts to undo the buttons of his own uniform. His fingers feel numb, either from the cold or something else he can’t afford to try and understand right now.

He doesn’t have to struggle for too long, though, for soon enough he feels magic washing through him, undoing in steady movements every button and every lace of his clothes. He let’s the uniform fall to the floor and reminds himself to breath.

“Are you a wizard or not, Potter?” Draco’s voice comes whispered in his left ear.

Harry turns around slowly, just in time to catch a glimpse of Malfoy’s wet hair, plastered to his nape, of the curve of his spine. Of his round, unbelievably hot ass.  
And of Draco’s bottom lip, between his teeth when he turns his head around a bit almost as if making sure Harry is looking at him.

When he vanishes inside an empty stall, Harry knows. He can’t see it, but he can imagine it clearly in his head how Malfoy’s cock must be rocking hard, just like Harry’s.


	3. Part 3

He encircles the base with shaky fingers, presses his thumb against the hot skin, feels it pulse under his palm. He slides his hand up, the friction unbearable, and massages the head, smearing the tip with glistening precome. He gasps, abdominal muscles contracting, thighs tensing, a single drop of sweat rolling down his left temple. 

’Draco…’.

He closes his eyes, brows drawn together in a maddening struggle to keep down his voice. The flow of sinful images flashing behind his eyelids unstoppable and shamefully arousing. It is all so vivid he can bet his remaining sanity it happened before. 

He can bet it is happening right now. 

Harry pumps his cock under his sweatpants in frantic moves, one side of his face pressed against the pillow and eyes tightly shut. The covers are kicked out of the bed as soon as he gives up trying to sleep. Beside him, too close to be considered safe - not to mention, polite - and separated from his own space by two layers of velvet curtains, is Malfoy’s bed.

Malfoy’s bed, in which sleeps Malfoy. 

McGonagall must have gone mental to think forcing eighth years from different houses to share the same dorms was a good idea. 

Harry groans, thanking the day he learnt the extra uses of Muffliato. He can’t let his mind wander, let his curiosity feed his imagination like this but he lost control long ago. In vivid contours Harry pictures long, pale legs, strong and hardened by incessant hours of Quidditch playing, spread wide open on top of white silk sheets. Messy sheets that keep being pushed away as the boy lying beneath them squirms silently.

Malfoy’s back archs while he jerks himself off slowly, the shirt he still has on riding up his abs while his free hand clings to the pillow. Harry can see how ashamed he is in spite of the flushed cheeks and small gasps for air. He is enjoying every second of it and hates himself for that. 

’Harry…’. 

He can’t stop moaning, the mere idea of hearing his name rolling on Malfoy’s tongue in this kind of situation too much to process. 

Harry lets his thumb massage his glans, fantasy-Malfoy reaching down for his balls. Harry gasps, feeling it building up inside him, that burning feeling of ecstasy, and Draco moans in his mind, his voice failing the moment one of his fingers brushes his entrance, the digit pressing against the soft, red skin. 

And, at that, Harry stops breathing altogether because what he is witnessing can’t be only a product of his imagination. Malfoy’s voice resonates inside his hand, his ragged breath and pleading words lost in between small cries; his sweaty skin, trembling muscles, the velvet of the curtains. In Harry’s head it is all to real.

Too obscenely real.

Harry comes with Draco fucking himself in his fingers.

Still with his eyes closed, head spinning, he tries to focus on his surroundings again. He removes the silencing spell from around his bed but it is only after what seems to be half an hour later that he hears something. A soft rustle of clothes. Someone trying to even their breathing. Careful steps against the wooden floor. 

As silently as he can, Harry pushes his bed curtains to find Malfoy’s bed empty beside him. 

The silk white sheets on the floor.

Exactly as the ones in his fantasy.


	4. Part 4

It can’t be true.

Harry opens his eyes to the first rays of sun light shining through the windows. It’s morning, the whole dormitory buzzing with life outside of his bed curtains and it won’t take much longer until someone pulls them open.

He closes his eyes again and the shame that washes over him is almost unbearable. It’s right there, in the blankets hanging at the edge of the mattress, mostly falling to the floor. In his pajama bottoms, still sticky and uncomfortable. In the hair at his nape, messier than normal from dried sweat.

The thing is, those are not the only sighs.

If he closes his eyes, it feels completely different. The shame, it is still there, but it doesn’t feel like his own. And the almost tangible feeling of soap against his fingertips doesn’t have a logical explanation, either.

Unless one considers all the unbelievable magical circumstances.

In that case, Harry is fucked.

In that case, he tries to breath before letting the train of thought crush him - everything actually happened and, somehow, he was able to see it.

To participate in it.

If that was true, then one question still stayed unanswered: did Malfoy also know what was going on?

Because if Harry’s hypothesis was indeed correct - and he is somehow able to get into Malfoy’s mind now - what would it mean if Malfoy was consciously letting him?

Harry closes his eyes again. Lets his head rest against the pillow. And there it is, broad wet shoulders, the skin as pale as marble, as smooth as cottom, assaulting his mind. The dripping blond hair is unmistakable, long legs covered in fine light hair now known to Harry’s memory.

Harry shivers when Malfoy turns around, running his hands through his soaked head, pushing the strands back. Well-defined muscles, pink nipples, shiny skin.

Harry’s eyes open in absolute shock. He wasn’t imagining all that. Still, he needs to make sure.

Getting up, Harry opens the curtains in a rush, going straight for his trunk and picking up some clean clothes.

‘Mornin’, mate’

Harry forces a smile at Ron, hands still busy trying to gather his things as quickly as possible.

'Uh, morning. Is there anyone using the shower right now?’

He tries to make it sound casual. Ron doesn’t seem to notice the nervousness in his voice at all, too busy trying to make his trunk the tiniest bit organized.

'Ah, yeah, I think-’

The door opens before Ron can finish, all eyes landing on a flushed, freshly out of the shower, Malfoy. His eyes meet Harry’s for a brief moment, an impenetrable look, before turning away in a dismissive manner. He doesn’t bother greeting any of them, heading straight for his trunk and placing the already folded pajamas in a neat pile of clothes.

Something inside Harry burns. He doesn’t have anything to say, at least not something that wouldn’t make his classmates think he had lost his mind.

So when Ron pulls at his sleeve claiming they were going to miss breakfast, Harry lets himself be dragged outside, catching a last glimpse of Malfoy’s back, now fully covered.

***

He waits, eyes fixed on the Great Hall doors. Beside him, Ron struggles to eat and talk at the same time while trying to make himsef understandable. Harry knows Hermione’s eyes are partially on him and can almost sense the question lingering on the girls lips.

'Is everything okay, Harry?’

Harry brings his eyes back to their table, careful not to look at her directly.

He still needs to be sure about his theory before he can even consider sharing it with the two of them. The implications, if he does it… Harry can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and forces the thoughts out of his head before they can lead to those vivid images.

'Yeah, sure’ he gives her the same smile he gave Ron and immediately regrets it. She knows, he thinks, the moment their eyes meet.

And then the Great Hall doors are pushed open, allowing a couple of fifth years to get in followed by an older student.

Malfoy doesn’t look at him on his way to the far end of the table and Harry feels that burning sensation grow inside of him again.

It would mean one think if Malfoy didn’t know. And something completely different if he did.

Harry waits for the boy to sit before deciding it is time to find out.

To say it is embarrassing to fondle himself under the table during breakfast would be an understatement. Still, with one hand holding his glass of juice for dear life while the other slides up and down his crotch, Harry does his best to keep his breathing even.

Almost like someone had called him, Malfoy’s eyes lift to meet Harry’s from across the table. Harry holds his gaze and feels his cheeks heat up because what should cause him to feel ashamed only makes his cock grow harder under his palm. Harry tries not to think of Hermione talking to Ginny from across the table or Ron munching his sausages beside him.

Malfoy looks at him with hunger in his eyes so Harry focus, eyes glued to him, and gulps before thinking as clearly as he can.

Enjoying the show?

The chatter dies suddenly at the sound of porcelain hitting the ground, crashing loudly in a million flying pieces as a couple of students at the far end of the eighth year table stumble to their feet.

’Shit, Malfoy, you need to be more careful!’

Harry feels all the blood drain from his face at the look of pure horror in Malfoy’s. Their eyes meet briefly once again before the boy turns on his heels and darts for the door.

He knows.

Harry’s hand is still gripping at the front of his pants.

It is true, after all.


	5. Part 5

Deep inside, anger coils in Harry’s stomach.

How could him.

Harry feels the numbness in his fingers, eyes glued to the ground where the tiny milky pieces of porcelain rest, untouched.

Malfoy knows.

He knew when Harry undressed him with his eyes in class. Or when Harry felt his whole body being set on fire that afternoon after quidditch.

Malfoy knew Harry touched himself to his face. And came to the shape of his name on his lips.

‘Harry?’

Hermione’s voice gets lost amidst the caos of his thoughts as Harry darts for the doors. He doesn’t have a specific destination in mind, can’t even say is Malfoy he’s looking for, but his legs keep moving him forward, outside, far away from questions.

When he stops, breathing short, he’s afraid his mind is going to betray him once again if he closes his eyes. So he doesn’t until the flow of thoughts slow down.

Still, all time in the world wouldn’t have prepared him for what he could see now.

Malfoy on his knees, shaking. A trail of tears staining his collar, the front of his shirt, the sheets beneath him. The hatred cuts through Harry’s mind, aching in his own stomach. It’s too intense, not even close to what he witnessed the day before and he wants to push it all away, that pain that isn’t his.

But Malfoy’s eyes keep him in place, watching, making him feel what the other felt like they were one.

His face is a dark shade of pink, wet and distorted in an ugly disgusted mask. He keeps pulling at the light blond strands of hair, rocking back and forth where he’s kneeling on his bed, the dormitory empty except from him.

No proper words can be understood by Harry, but he doesn’t need them to feel Malfoy’s shame and frustration.

The cause of it all, however, remains unknown when Harry comes back to his own consciousness.

That’s when he realizes he’s not angry.

’No’

He takes his glasses of, pinches the bridge of his nose.

And then remembers the last time cold sweat ran down his nape after a vision, a twisted dream that proved to be more real than anything else.

Harry blinks once, twice.

Voldemort is gone, the only one able to connect to Harry’s mind in such intimacy. Yet, there he is, feeling Malfoy’s hatred in his bones, uncontrolled and vulnerable, so much like Voldemort, so different at the same time.

Malfoy may know… but to what extent?

Harry looks up, the castle imposing, stone walls hiding it’s battle scars. He needs to find him, Harry finally decides.

 

***

 

'Are you going to talk to us or just keep pretending there’s nothing going on?’

'I…’

Hermione’s lips form a tight line, Ron holding a slightly desperate look beside her. Harry knows his friend probably tried to dissuade her from cornering Harry like that but it was no surprise he failed.

Harry looks around, miserably searching for an excuse to avoid explaining himself. The empty corridor, just one floor below their common room, offers no help. Harry sighs, finally looking his friend in the eye.

'I need to talk to Malfoy’ Harry says each word slowly.

'Why?’

'It’s complicated. I promise I’ll explain, but not now’ his eyes keep searching for a way out.

Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but changes her mind before doing so, closing it again. She eyes Ron quickly, who just shrugs, and then sighs in frustration.

'If he’s blackmailing you in any way, I swear-’

'He’s- he’s not. Can I go now?’

Harry can feel his cheeks burning simply because if any of them could use what they know to blackmail the other, it was Harry.

He shakes the thought away.

'I’m going now’

He doesn’t wait for Hermione’s reply before darting past them. She calls for him, but Harry doesn’t look back.

He shouldn’t feel guilty, he repeats in his head again and again, something he’s been trying to convince himself for the past months regarding a lot of things.

Considering Hermione was the one who had dissuaded him from continuously trying to please everyone, he really shouldn’t feel bad about leaving his friends in the middle of the hallway like that.

He searches as he walks. Harry knows where Malfoy was in his vision, which doesn’t mean he’ll stay there forever. Even so, Harry chooses the dormitories as his first destination, pushing away the nervousness threatening to take over his mind.

He could close his eyes again, check one more time. Risk witness more then he had the right to.

No, he needs to speak to him, hear from his mouth an explanation. And then face his own disturbed desires, which would have to, somehow, stay out of his conversation with Ron and Hermione.

He would explain. Later, he thinks, finally reaching the portrait.

 

***

 

The fire burns slowly in one of the thousands of fireplaces in the impromptu common room. With its high ceiling, uncovered tapestry walls still displaying the whitish frozen bricks - something to be expected to happen in one of the highest towers of the castle, the room was clearly not the most appropriate place to house students. However, the installation of the various fireplaces and the carpet permanently bewitched with a heating spell bore a cozy and improvised air so characteristic of Hogwarts it did not take long until the eighth years adopted the room as theirs.

Harry feels his footsteps being muffled as he crosses the portrait, mentally thanking the softness of the carpet that always allowed him to arrive at his dorm without the other students - few, but present - noticing his arrival. Harry climbs the stairs to the boy’s dormitory two at a time, heart pounding in his throat the moment his hand reaches the doorknob.

He thinks for a moment to knock and before he can think better of it, the massive sound of his fist against the wood resounds in the hallway. He feels immediately ridiculous, almost turning on his heels to leave when the door squeaks open and Harry swallows hard.

'You knocked’. It sounds like a question intended to be weighed with mockery but only holding confusion. Malfoy’s gaze is sharp, filled with a coldness that can freeze the blood of any enemy. And yet, Harry holds it, noticing sparks of insecurity cross the mask of rehearsed hatred. Jaw set, his lips a thin line of a pinkish slightly lighter than his skin, his hair the only sign of imbalance.

And Harry suddenly does not know what to say.

The last time he looked into those eyes they were roaming over his body, filled with nothing more than lust.

'I don’t know what you did to me,’

It takes Harry longer than expected to focus on Malfoy’s words, unable to tear his eyes away from his mouth.

'But if i find out you talked about this with someone, anyone, Potter, I swear I’ll-’

'Wait… what?’

Harry interrupts Malfoy abruptly as his words begin to make sense. Not all the sense Harry would expect them to make, though.

'I didn’t do anything,’ he finishes, slowly. The expression on Malfoy’s face changes for a fraction of a second in which Harry can see the surprise he himself feels before it returns to the previous one. In the quiet hallway, Harry can hear Malfoy swallowing. 'You’re lying,’ he replies, his voice sharper than usual. His eyes momentarily lose focus as if the words he had just uttered were an attempt to convince himself that this was the truth instead of accusing Harry of something without feeling.

'Why would I lie?’ Harry feels lost, again as if he had been put on a game without even knowing the rules.

With the exception that Malfoy was in the same situation this time. In front of him, Malfoy remained petrified. The look of hatred he had replaced by one of open confusion. For a moment Harry thinks the boy will turn around and close the door on his face, but all Malfoy does is step back, eyes fixed on a spot above Harry’s head . His breath quickens, eyes moving from side to side looking for something seemingly invisible to anyone’s eyes, and Harry can feel his own heart racing with growing anxiety. He needs to think and Malfoy is not helping, clearly panicking without even explaining his reasons. 

'Malfoy, what do you know?' 

But his words have no effect, the panic already taking over Malfoy who does not seem to notice Harry’s presence anymore. He pulls at his hair, thumbs pressed with a brutal force against his temples as he closes his eyes. Harry takes one step closer unconsciously, an inexplicable need to calm the other down, but Malfoy’s tone makes him stop still too far.

'Do it’

With his eyes closed, Malfoy cannot see Harry’s confusion. The seconds drag on until gray eyes finally meet green and Malfoy steps forward, and then closer. Until he’s at hand’s reach and Harry can almost feel something vibrating in the air between them.

'Close your eyes, Potter’

Harry does so without thinking, and then it’s too late to turn back.

It is nerve-racking to feel the waves of unexplained anger and fear drowning him silently. For the first time, however, anger is not directed at him, as is the fear that can almost take the form of words. Suddenly, Harry witness the darkness behind his eyelids morph slowly into a murk scenario bounded by walls. Stones covered in moss, an impenetrable air, claustrophobic, reinforced by the odor of deterioration. Before Harry can take in his surroundings, the vision is ripped out of his mind and his eyes open in shock to find Malfoy’s again. His hands, Harry realizes suddenly, are leaning on the boy’s shoulders, which is paler than normal. Harry barely has time to remove them before Malfoy steps away again.

'If not you, then who did this?’

At that moment, Draco is the almost perfect copy of Lucius, the air of disgust and superiority perfectly faithful to the original. And Harry almost lets the obnoxious memory guide his attitudes before allowing himself to look into Draco’s eyes once more.

'It wasn’t me' 

Harry feels the need to reinforce his words, seeking at every passing second the strengh to regain control. He still feels shaken by the intensity of Malfoy’s thoughts and it is hard to think when he doesn’t even understand the extent of the connection between their minds. Malfoy, however, seems willing enough to discuss the source of the problem, the posture of someone about to bargain for something of value masking his impending loss of control. Harry takes a deep breath before continuing, briefly considering his choice of words. 

'Listen, Malfoy. I don’t know what’s happening and you, it seems, don’t either. Maybe it would be better if- ’

’No’ he cuts Harry short. Harry lets his fingernails pierce the palms of his hands instead of burying his fists in Malfoy’s face.

'Do you honestly think I want to share all this with someone else? If we had another option- ’

But before Harry can finish his sentece Malfoy is entering his personal space once more, hands clenched into fists trembling by his sides. One of them holds his wand in a grip tighter than necessary. 

'We’re not going to talk to anyone about this’

His tone of voice is brutally rusty, loaded with authority. For the first time Harry feels a real threat, Malfoy’s lack of control signaling to the seriousness of the matter. So there was indeed another issue there on display, one that Harry still didn’t understand. He nods briefly at last. 

Time, Harry decides. He would give time to see how far the situation would go, even if it meant a path with no return.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are super welcomed :) You can find more of my writing (and fanarts) on my tumblr (yesbocchan).


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